Sequel: Shinjuku Princess ›
Lolita Love Story
交合 (Kougou)
Surveying the parking lot below, Kougou listened to the ticking of the clock on the nearby nightstand. His eyes frequently glanced over to check the time, though he didn't know what he was waiting for.
It was exactly midnight.
His pale, thin hand had been pressed against the cold glass for several minutes now. For a while, he had tried to hold it back, but it came in waves and refused to relent. Like nausea, he could only hold it back for so long. He closed his eyes, steadying his weight against the windowsill. Images flooded his mind—consuming the line between reality and the visions until his senses also became conflicted. The metallic smell of blood ripped at his dry throat and nostrils. The echo of it spraying against concrete echoed in his head long after the sensation should have faded. Kougou no longer fought the episodes, but it never got easier to endure. His muscles twitched violently until the future he'd seen began to blur and fade, subsiding into uneasy, unclear reality.
His thoughts were jumbled up, as they always were after seeing the visions. He trailed a weak hand across his face and realized that he had broken out in a cold sweat. Sighing, he ran cold water over his hands and splashed his face to remain sane—or at least as sane as someone like him could be. He met the eyes of his reflection, but he didn't feel the same as the boy in the mirror.
Kougou had never been a physically healthy boy, but as he matured, his complexion had become so ashy and pale that he resembled a statue rather than a human. His bone structure had always been slight and delicate. His face was more akin to a boy’s than a man’s. And since his childhood, he had developed lingering shadows behind his eyes and tense posture—something his mother constantly worried about.
For a long moment, he stared at his reflection with his thin eyebrows pulled together in thought. He eventually turned away, expelling a breath he had been holding in, and lay down on his bed. He reached back to turn the lamp off. The sound it made accompanied was by a recurring noise in his thoughts: the sound of blood spraying against concrete.
Only two hours later, he jolted awake from a dream that had also been full of gore. Fear seized him. Only the heavy breaths kept him company in the cold, dark room. When he could gain his bearings, he stood quickly and put his hand on the door to the family room. His pulse quickened underneath his paper-white flesh as his breath caught in his throat. Kougou slid the door open.
At the floor was the fresh corpse of his mother. His visions were never wrong.
It was exactly midnight.
His pale, thin hand had been pressed against the cold glass for several minutes now. For a while, he had tried to hold it back, but it came in waves and refused to relent. Like nausea, he could only hold it back for so long. He closed his eyes, steadying his weight against the windowsill. Images flooded his mind—consuming the line between reality and the visions until his senses also became conflicted. The metallic smell of blood ripped at his dry throat and nostrils. The echo of it spraying against concrete echoed in his head long after the sensation should have faded. Kougou no longer fought the episodes, but it never got easier to endure. His muscles twitched violently until the future he'd seen began to blur and fade, subsiding into uneasy, unclear reality.
His thoughts were jumbled up, as they always were after seeing the visions. He trailed a weak hand across his face and realized that he had broken out in a cold sweat. Sighing, he ran cold water over his hands and splashed his face to remain sane—or at least as sane as someone like him could be. He met the eyes of his reflection, but he didn't feel the same as the boy in the mirror.
Kougou had never been a physically healthy boy, but as he matured, his complexion had become so ashy and pale that he resembled a statue rather than a human. His bone structure had always been slight and delicate. His face was more akin to a boy’s than a man’s. And since his childhood, he had developed lingering shadows behind his eyes and tense posture—something his mother constantly worried about.
For a long moment, he stared at his reflection with his thin eyebrows pulled together in thought. He eventually turned away, expelling a breath he had been holding in, and lay down on his bed. He reached back to turn the lamp off. The sound it made accompanied was by a recurring noise in his thoughts: the sound of blood spraying against concrete.
Only two hours later, he jolted awake from a dream that had also been full of gore. Fear seized him. Only the heavy breaths kept him company in the cold, dark room. When he could gain his bearings, he stood quickly and put his hand on the door to the family room. His pulse quickened underneath his paper-white flesh as his breath caught in his throat. Kougou slid the door open.
At the floor was the fresh corpse of his mother. His visions were never wrong.
♠ ♠ ♠
Most of my chapters won't be this short. I thought it would be nice to have an introductory sequence for both of the main characters, so the first two will be short.Kougou in Japanese means "sexual union" or "bite" depending on the kanji.